


What we Deserve

by B0unty_C0unty



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: I have a lot of feelings, I love El and Will as Billy's siblings, Maybe if anyone is interested in this I'll add more?, There was a leaked tossed script & I loved the idea of Billy and Hopper having a relationship, What if S2 but... different, and Joyce would maybe be a good motherly influence, god Hopper would be a good fatherly influence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-09-02 12:28:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20275930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/B0unty_C0unty/pseuds/B0unty_C0unty
Summary: In early September, 1984, in a small town in Indiana, a small percentage of an already small population just has a feeling about the new family in town. They’re technically not wrong, but they’re not quite right either.Also known as: Harringrove shippers get what we deserve.





	What we Deserve

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [we were robbed](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/508651) by daddy-harringtons. 

> I posted this on Tumblr, where you can also see the script it's inspired by! Also daddy-harringtons is truly a rad blog~

There was already gossip in town, everyone talking about who knows who, what they do with you know who, and any other kind of frivolous girly gossip that they could cling to to distract themselves from their own boring lives. That was why Jim Hopper, Chief of the very small police force in Hawkins, tended to keep his own business between himself and a very select few.

Well, them and the several in depth government contracts that he and those very select few had to sign in order to come home. The whole ordeal last year was.. hopefully behind them.

Hopper could go back to being the grumpy Chief of police, Joyce Byers could date Bob Newby if she wanted, Jonathan Byers, Nancy Wheeler, and Steve Harrington could go do whatever teenagers did in this day and age, and Will Byers, Mike Wheeler, Lucas Sinclair, and Dustin Henderson could keep being kids without all the interdimensional travelers in the way of their collective childhoods. Hopper truly hoped they were young enough to forget about it- then again, El was their age and she remembered everything. She was special though, so maybe she didn’t count as the same type of kid as those other four.

The Chief _knew_ that the special kid remembered everything because he was with her almost 24/7. That had been the only way she wouldn’t end up in the foster system, shipped off to god-knows-where, and Hopper didn’t like the idea of that little girl passed off like a torch. Even if Eleven could bend spoons with her mind, she was still just a kid.

A kid who needed some.. uh, “special precautions,” to put it like the egghead government morons that’d gone over the rules and all the fine print of their arrangement. He was to sign adoption papers, then homeschool her until she was deemed ready to slowly join the public by a specialist. Hopper wasn’t exactly enthused about her having to see a government issued shrink- he thought it was a hunk of bologna- but if that was what it took to give the kid a regular childhood, Hopper was ready to give it a shot if El was.

She was easily 10 times as ready as he was, one vigorous nod of her head later and two nearly identical forms were signed. 011 was officially, legally, Elizabeth Hopper- Jim Hopper’s adopted daughter. Jim was ordered separately to continue outwardly living his life as he had before the incident occurred, so that was what he was doing. 

He sits in his patrol car one August morning, not even sat at a speed trap, not anonymous in an undercover vehicle- his indiscreet beige Chevy marked “Chief” sits on the side of a less traveled road leading from Hawkins to the bigger city nearby. This is important, because Hopper’s eating his lunch when some maniac in a slick little blue car whirs past him, making his hefty truck shake like a leaf. Naturally, Hopper sighs, turns on his lights, and seals his sandwich in its little tupperware container while peeling out of his shady spot to chase the speed demon. He thinks that peacefully munching on his sandwich would have been so much better.

The little blue car, a fairly well maintained Camaro by the looks of it, thankfully pulls over, Hopper’s not in the mood for a chase, but then again, he never is. The soft pap and crunch of his boots on the uneven pavement as he gets out is a sound he normally enjoys. It’s like the jingle-jangle of spurs on cowboy boots when they’d walk three paces and then fire. 

Jim’s not here to fire though, especially when he catches a glimpse of the kid in the driver’s seat. Well, ‘kid’ may not be the right term, he’s probably Steve Harrington’s age but Hopper has motions to run through. The guy’s got this slightly impatient look on his face, like _he’s_ the one whose lunch had just been interrupted.

Hopper makes his way to the Camaro leisurely, when he gets there he leans down to intrude upon the teenager’s personal space a bit. Y’know, hat partially in the window, strong forearm resting on the roof of the car to stabilize himself and maybe make the kid feel cornered. Intimidation wasn’t exactly his go to, but it worked in a pinch- and his lunch only lasted an hour, so Jim feels pretty _pinched._

“License and registration, kid,” Hopper says, bored and only mostly certain he’s gonna let the kid off with a warning. 

Yeah, people have always gossiped in this town, but Hopper’s pretty sure there’s two things in Hawkins that take the cake for the Having Most Bullshit Spread About Them award, and that’s the Hawkins lab and the Hargrove-Mayfield family that just rolled in. The kid hands his license over between his index and middle finger, casual as could be- despite that irritated look he was sporting a second ago. Hopper notices scraped knuckles and bitten fingernails. 

Hopper’s unluckily had the misfortune of listening to all that gossip whenever he leaves his cabin, that means he’s up to speed when he sees the name William Hargrove on the small slip of laminated, government issued, information. 

When the Chief raises one eyebrow and goes to say _‘I said I need your registration too, y’little bastard,’_ the kid speaks up, hands coming to a resting position on his steering wheel.

“Registration’s in the glovebox officer, can I get your permission to grab it?” He drawls smarmily, like he’s trying to be cute. 

Hopper’s not feeling very charmed and even if he was in the mood, little mulleted boys with infamously bad attitudes aren’t his type, “Yeah,” the Chief half-sighs already feeling a migraine coming on, “just hurry it up kid. I don’t got all day to play with you out here,” he amends. 

He’s handed the document a second later and finally he can go do his job and make sure everything’s up to speed. He’s already certain it is as he walks back to his truck to input everything he needs to.

Maybe a minute later he walks back with the two documents to return them to the kid. He hates paperwork and the kid’s not stopped looking impatiently at him through the rear view mirror, like he thinks he can’t see. Over all, he’s gonna have a chat and let the kid go along his merry way.

“So, William, you been driving laps around town, or what?” He asks as he’s giving the kid back his mandatory junk. 

He sees the kid turn on the charm, “It’s Billy and.. ‘what,’ actually.” 

Billy’s testing his patience, even Steve Harrington- who _knows_ Hopper- would be straight with him at this point. This kid’s poised like a snake, scared to get stepped on- he’s trying to play it off though, visibly forcing himself to relax in his seat.

“Well, you weren’t speeding,_Billy,_ but I can tell you were working up to it,” he says, annoying the kid further. Hopper’s only slightly puzzled. Most people would be pleased to know they’d not been doing anything warranting a ticket… What’s going on with this guy?

He tries again, “What’s on your mind, Billy Badass?” 

The blonde drops his charming grin for a moment looks like he’s considering something, looking at Hopper more thoroughly. His hat, his face, then his badge and his lax grin is back in full force.

“I’m out lookin’ for girls,” he says with a twinkle in his eye, a shit eating ‘one of the boys’ grin plastered on his face. If Hopper were a different man, he may have chuckled and given Billy a clap on the shoulder and let him go right there. But he’s not a different man.

He responds with a grin of his own, raising a bushy brow, “Y’know, I don’t think me and you are gonna get along,” he says.

“Why’s that Chief?” Billy asks, the little bastard doesn’t care. Hopper _knows_ he doesn’t care because he wouldn't have cared at 16 years old. 

“Because you’re fucking charming. Which I happen to know is a big neon sign saying, ‘Look Out’,” he pauses, Billy’s still looking at him all curious, he continues, “I know that because I’m fucking charming too.” Before the teen can say much, he casually slaps the roof of Billy’s car with the palm of his hand twice, and plasters on a grin of his own, “Slow down, son.” He says, before he turns around and begins to walk back to his car.

He gets far enough to be annoyed when he hears Billy say loudly, “Hop.” 

He stops and turns, “Did- did you just call me Hop?” What kind of a nickname even is that- they’re not nearly close enough for Billy to be shortening his name all chummy. He and Billy certainly don’t know each other enough for this kid to be calling him _Hop._

He only thinks about the ridiculousness of it for a second before Billy continues, “This girl I’m looking for… it’s my mom,” he finishes, it seems to just tumble out like he’s never said it out loud before.

His mom, huh… well, Hopper’s never met a Mrs. Hargrove- never even heard of any Hargroves until the Hargrove-Mayfield’s moved into town. But it’s not like Hopper’s gonna tell the kid ‘no.’ He’s the sheriff and he’s already taken on the roll of ‘Surrogate Father’ for three teenagers and four kids- and the roll of Legal Father for one kid with superpowers… what’s one more teenager to the roster?

“Tell you what, kid,” he begins, “sometime this week after school, around four or five o’clock, come to the station and ask for Chief Hopper. We can talk more about this search there. Now go on home and _don’t speed,”_ he finishes without room for argument, stomping slightly faster to his truck and peeling out to find a brand new shady spot to eat his damn lunch.


End file.
